


Hollow

by orphan_account



Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - John Wick (Movies) Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fake Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26354539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He stares at the gravestone, the cold grey block that bears the engraved name of his partner. His best friend, the one and only person that was too kind and pure to live in this Darwinian planet. He stands alone under the darkened grey skies. He stands alone ensconced in the unstill quietness and agitation of the cemetery. He stands, alone.He stares at the gravestone, the cold grey block. The light of his day, the love of his life.He stands, alone, once more.He left behind his life as the enforcer of the Yakuza's will when he found the love of his life. But the ghosts of the past don't stay dead. When they kill the love of his life, he digs up the past he buried and comes after them with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Neil struggles with recent revelations as he tries to pursue his duty as an agent of MI6.John Wick AU.
Relationships: Neil/The Protagonist (Tenet)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Hollow

**London, UK**

He stares at the gravestone, the cold grey block that bears the engraved name of his partner. His best friend, the one and only person that was too kind and pure to live in this Darwinian planet. He stands alone under the darkened grey skies. He stands alone ensconced in the unstill quietness and agitation of the cemetery. He stands, alone.

He stares at the gravestone, the cold grey block. The light of his day, the love of his life.

He stands, alone, once more.

 _“I love you._ ”

He hears soft and delicate footsteps behind him. She slowly approaches him, cautious but gentle, as if she understands the nature of his unnatural silence. She has been one of the few to understand him, even after all these years. They never needed words to truly understand each other. She knows him so well, only second after the love of his life, the one he was forced to bury too soon.

She knows him so well, and she knows that this is the calm before the storm.

When she gently brushes her shoulder against his, she looks down at the gravestone and remembers the name, as if searing it into her memory would be the least she could do to honor the memory of his beloved deceased.

“Who did this to you?” she asked in that quiet voice, a tone that rarely comes out, the kind that belied a tightly leashed rage beneath the veneer of composure.

“I don’t know,” he said just as quietly, even if the violent pounding of rising violence within his bloodstream contrasted the calmness of his demeanor. “All of I know is that they gunned down a plane, full of innocent kids and people. They gunned down an airplane, apparently, because of some mafia war happening back home.”

“I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Did you know?” he asked, quietly.

“Did I know what?”

“The last thing he told me before he died,” he swallowed, inhaling sharply, “‘I love you’. He told me – I love you. Even, even after everything we fought over. Because you know, we’ve had a rocky road the last few months. We fought over stupid bullshit. I was mad at him last week. I don’t remember what or why, just that I was. Now, I don’t even remember what the fuck I was mad about.”

He raises his head and cranes his neck, looking towards her. “He told me he loves me. Now, I can’t tell him the same thing. I can’t tell him anymore, because, what’s the point? He’s not around anymore.”

She stays silent, and for that, he feels a swell of gratitude for her.

He cranes his neck, looking down at the gravestone once again. “What am I gonna do now?”

_He was my whole life. Now, he’s gone. What am I going to do?_

She closes her eyes, tears falling. “I don’t know, John,” her voice cracks, “I don’t know. I’m sorry. For once, I don’t know the answers.”

He looks up and turns away, walking away and further way from where he buried his heart forever.

* * *

_“How is he doing?”_

She inhales shakily. “Not good. Not good, at all.”

_“I told you, we rushed it too soon. We spooked the Yakuza, and now we’ve got innocent blood on our hands!”_

She shuts her eyes. “Now we best make sure to make their sacrifice count.”

 _“There is no sacrifice,_ ” the voice over the phone said coldly, “ _because they never swore their lives to Queen and Country, Kat. They were killed due to our negligence. If you just listened to me, this wouldn’t have happened.”_

She exhales slowly. “What’s done, is done. I’m sorry it turned out this way, but we have no choice. You will have to continue your mission, Agent. Bring down all of the crime families that are perpetuating this monstrosity.”

The phone hangs up.

* * *

**Hell's Kitchen**

“Takeshi, do you know why I called you in today?”

The young man bowed for a moment, before looking up to meet his father’s eyes. “ _Chichi-ue_ , no, I don’t. Is everything all right, father?”

The elder man raised his chin, disdainfully gazing at his own heir. “I heard that a certain airplane filled with innocent people, exploded from a bomb. This particular bomb was set to explode once it passed a specific altitude.”

Takeshi swallowed, looking down. “I’m sorry, father. We had no more choice. I had to take matters into my own hands. Riccardi’s sons were on that flight to their father’s funeral in New York. I had to secure our family’s legacy.”

The Yakuza head said with a frigid tone. “Did you know who else you killed besides the sons of our dying rival?”

The boy swallowed again, closing his eyes as mortal dread sinks into his heart. “No, father. I am sorry.”

The elder man viciously grabbed the boy’s chin and pulled him up to his feet. The Yakuza head stares into the widened eyes of his only heir, brimming with fury. “You killed the lover of _Il Mostro._ Do you understand what I am saying, brat?”

Takeshi swallowed, eyes wide. “Who?” he asked hoarsely. “Who – who are you speaking of?”

The man’s eyes glinted with unnatural fury. “ _Il Mostro_ , my stupid son, is the only man that can strike such a vicious fear into the hearts of the other rival families. _Il Mostro_ was the weapon of terror our family has wielded proudly for so many years. _Il Mostro_ , my stupid son, is the reason why our family occupies this position of power we find ourselves in today.”

The Yakuza head tosses his heir to the side with a violence that leaves the boy reeling. “ _Il Mostro_ was our weapon, until he found a lover to tame his bloodlust. When he wanted to leave our way of life, I gave him an impossible task. A task that no one should have succeeded in accomplishing. And yet, he came back, bloodied and triumphant. The bodies we buried that one day laid the foundation of who we all are today.”

The elder turns around, glaring at his son’s disgraced figure as he lies on the ground, coughing and wheezing for breath. “The clothes on your back, the gold in our treasury, the territory we hold, the power we have – all of this was possible, because _Il Mostro_ was a friend to us, once. And my stupid son, whose ambition outgrew his own place in the family, decided to bomb an airplane out of the sky. All because, he wanted to please me.”

The elder reached out and curled a strong hand around his heir’s neck. Fear flooded the boy’s eyes as he struggled to gasp for air beneath the iron grip around his airway. “I might as well just kill you now, my stupid son. But I dare not invite the wrath of _Il Mostro_ , because he is coming for you, for us all. Whether we like it or not. Because that is just the kind of man that he is, Takeshi.”

“ _Il Mostro_ is a man of focus, commitment, and sheer will,” the Yakuza elder spat, “Something that you would never understand, my stupid son. John is a man of focus, and he will not stop until he gets what he wants.”

The Yakuza head snarls at the boy and tosses him away, ignoring the tears streaming down his son’s face. “You will do nothing, boy. Because, you can do _nothing_. _Il Mostro_ will come for you and the only thing anyone can do, is _wait_.”

* * *

**Home**

The sledgehammer falls once.

Crack.

The sledgehammer falls twice.

Another crack appears.

He _roars_.

The sledgehammer falls for the last time.

The ground crumbles. The earth shatters. Dust falls on the earth.

A safe was hidden beneath the concrete ground.

He digs it up. He opens it.

Inside, he finds the remnants of a life that he swore to leave behind him for the rest of his days.

But as they say, dip a pinkie in the pond and you may very well find that something reaches out to pull you back in.

And so he reaches in, and _pulls_.

For the first time in many years, he slips back into the skin of _Il Mostro_.

* * *

**The "Met"**

He looks around at the Renaissance-era paintings, doing his best to remain casual. “What’s the main objective of my mission?”

Ives sits on the bench beside him. “The complete destruction of the Yakuza, as well as any other crime families with an involvement in this trafficking ring. But while you can, investigate and gather as much intelligence as you are able on _Il Mostro_.”

The agent tilts his head. “ _Il Mostro_? Last I heard, they went silent seven years ago, suddenly dropping off the radar without warning.”

Ives shook his head. “Dropping off the radar doesn’t mean they weren’t active. I’ve got a few feelers in the Underworld. We know so little about _Il Mostro_ , only that they were heavily involved with the Yakuza in the past. That’s all.”

The agent nods. “And you want me to investigate _Il Mostro_ , because they might have a stake in the Yakuza.”

“At this point, I can’t tell you where to start looking. We don’t know anything about this target. No behavioral profile, psychology, nothing. This mission is unlike anything of the scale you’ve taken before, Agent,” Ives cautioned.

Ives inhales sharply. “From what intelligence we have, _Il Mostro_ lives up to their namesake. Not a fella to mess around with. _Il Mostro_ was the personal executioner of the Yakuza head. No one has a face or a name that they can attach to this one. All we know is that they are vicious, calculating, and cold to the marrow of the bone. If you ever come across someone who you think might be _Il Mostro_ , do not engage with them, Agent. We are talking about a monster that has evaded scrutiny for years. Chances are that they are just as skilled at blending into society as you are.”

He nods. “I’ll be careful. And I’ll get the job done, as always.”

Ives nodded. “Good luck, Agent. I’ll be in touch.”

* * *

**New York**

He strides through the towering doors of the Continental. He feels eyes wandering to him and he ignores the flash of irritation that claws at his gut. He can feel the astonishment and wariness splintering the air of the hotel, but he calmly strides on to the main desk.

He dives a hand into his pocket and fishes out an obol coin. “When did she get a facelift?”

Charon looks up, dark irises glinting like a corvid’s eye. “About four years ago, Mr. Castiglione.”

“Same owner?”

Charon smiles. “Same owner.”

He nods brusquely, putting the obol coin on the polished marble counter.

“May I inquire for how long we will be of service to you?”

He bites his inner cheek, and looks up at the concierge after a few seconds of thought. “Indefinitely, until I can get the job done.”

Charon smiles at him, the morbid smile of a corvid. “Room 818.”

He reaches over the counter and grabs the keys, nodding his gratitude.

“May I say that it is a pleasure to have you with us again, Mr. Castiglione.”

For the first time in days, he smiles viciously. “I forgot how good it was to be back.”

* * *

**New York**

_“_ _Neil, we have a problem,_ ” Kat said over the phone, her voice shaking.

He stands up from the bed. “Is he alright, Kat? Is he alright?”

_“The flat is a bloody mess. He’s not here, Neil. In the flat. I can’t see him anywhere at all.”_

He shuts his eyes, swallowing back the dread rising in his gut. “Tell me what you see,” he says hoarsely.

 _“Blood, everywhere. Cracked windows. It’s a fucking mess, Neil. A downright, fucking mess. Shit, I think some of them were gunshots,”_ Kat gasps over the phone. “ _Bullets. I see fucking bullets on the walls, Neil. Why – who would go after John? Neil, who would think to go after him?_ ”

He exhales shakily, dropping back on the bed to calm the tremors seizing his hands. “I don’t know, Kat. I don’t know. I don’t know why anyone would. He’s just an accountant,” his voice cracks. “Tell me he isn’t dead, Kat. _Please_.”

“ _I don’t see him, Neil. Hold on, I see a trail leading to the basement. I’m coming down there.”_

He removes the phone from his ear and sets it to speaker mode. He inhales sharply and shuts his eyes as he furiously scrapes his fingers through his blond hair. His heart was pounding, and he swallowed back the dread filling his heart.

“Please don’t do this to me, John. Please don’t do this. _Please_ , _”_ he murmurs hoarsely.

_“Neil?”_

He shuts his eyes again and stays silent. He clenches his fist against his chest as he feels his heart constricting, anticipating the sledgehammer impact of grief he is expecting to feel.

_“He’s not here, Neil. He’s not here. But I found a sledgehammer, along with a safe.”_

He sobs in relief. “Thank God. He’s alive.”

As the words registered, he tries to recover his composure. “Did – did you say you found a safe? And – and a sledgehammer?”

_“Yes. Wait, hold on. I think, I think there’s a note.”_

He hears the bewilderment in her voice. He clears his throat, still trying to control his heaving chest from the sobbing that wants to break out.

“What does it say?” he asked quietly.

_“ ‘To anyone that finds this note, all you need to know is that I’m alive. And all of the blood and destruction you see upstairs, is done by my own hand. If you are reading this as a friend, then I’m sorry, but I’m not who you think I am. Once it’s safe, I will return and tell you everything. However, if you are reading this as my enemy, then there is only one thing you need to know – I’m back, and you better pray that I will not find you. If you are my enemy, then know this – I am back and I am coming to take what I am owed. You should have left me in peace.’”_

What? He felt his heart stopping. He blinks rapidly a few times, and he feels the sudden urge to sit back down on the bed.

“What was that?” he asked hoarsely. “Why – why would John write something like this?”

 _“I don’t know, Neil. I don’t know,”_ Kat replies, just as shaken as he was. “ _That’s why I’m asking you. Did John have any enemies? Why would someone go after him?”_

“No, no. John – John isn’t the type of man to have enemies,” he says, ignoring the way his voice cracks. “Kat, he isn’t a violent man. It’s just – it’s just not in his nature. Are you sure he wrote it?”

_“I studied graphology, Neil. It’s his handwriting. I’m sorry, but it’s his.”_

“ _No!_ No, just no. John is an accountant. He – he isn’t violent,” he argues back weakly.

_“Wait, there’s more.”_

He shuts his eyes and holds his head between his hands, breathing hard.

“ ‘ _I’ve hidden long enough for the last seven years. I’m done with the secrets. I’m coming back to enact my vengeance. To all of my enemies, I say to you – run for your lives. Run for your lives, little rabbits. I am coming for you, Shimura. If you belong to the Yakuza, little rabbit, then pass it along. Tell him that Il Mostro has returned. Tell them all that Il Mostro will come for what he is owed. Tell them that anyone that gets in my way will get what they deserve.’”_

He feels his heart physically stopping as the weight of the revelation shears through him.

“No,” he says softly, and he feels his heart breaking even more. He gasps, chest heaving for breath, even as his heart is galloping furiously. “ _No._ That – _that can’t be true_.”

It can’t be true, can it? It can’t be.

“No, Kat. That’s not true,” his voice breaks, even as he pleads with her. “Please tell me that he’s lying.”

For once, she remains silent, just as shocked as he was.

“No, no,” he gasps weakly.

He hears muffled cries from the phone.

 _“I’m sorry, Neil. I’m sorry._ ”

He shuts his eyes, swallowing back the feeling of betrayal that penetrates through his heart. He feels tears trailing down his pale cheeks, and he claws his hands through his dishevelled hair, stifling the strangled sobs that threatened to spill forth.

* * *

**The Continental**

John sits at the queen-sized bed in Room 818, numbly watching as he replays videos that captured priceless memories of times long past.

_The face staring at the camera was smiling, blue eyes alight with life as laughter filled the air._

_“Are you still recording that? Seriously?” Neil laughed._

_“Happy Birthday to you, my beautiful man,” he declared proudly._

_Neil got out of his chair, leaning over the table in a vain attempt to wrestle the smartphone out of his hands. “Give me that. I’m going to delete that so you can’t ‘accidentally’ share it on Facebook.”_

_“What? I can’t give my pretty white boy an expensive party for this birthday?”_

_Neil blushed. “You’re incorrigible, old man.”_

_They both laughed._

The video ended.

He looks through their pictures, again and again.

The rage returns, and it’s the kind that burns cold.

Nothing will stop him now. Live or die, this is the way he goes. He is _Il Mostro_ , always was and always will be, and whatever part of him that was good died along with his heart. Neil was the only good thing in this life, and he lost his heart along with _him_.

 _Il Mostro_ is a heartless beast, and this is what he is now.


End file.
